Happily Ever After in Maine
by stormyskies73
Summary: Warning: what you are about to read may shock you. After all, it's about me, the girl who wrecked her own home and generally screwed everything up. At least, that's what my sister thinks. But read it anyway. Just remember, the Koreans started it.
1. Prologue

**This is the prologue for a fic I'm planning. If you like it, leave a review and I'll write more.**

**Disclaimer:I do not own M*A*S*H. (Although how awesome would that _be?_)**

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Once upon a time in a place called Boston there lived a man and a woman. (Just bear with me on this.) They fell in love, married and had two beautiful daughters, and for a long time they were happy. Then came the war. The man was drafted and sent off to a faraway land. The war tore the family apart; and when he eventually returned, some things didn't get put back in the right place. Because somewhere along the line the man had fallen in love with his bunkie. (Yes, you read that right.) It was slow and it was gradual and neither realized until it was too late. So for the next seven years he lived a lie. The woman argued with him, wishing he'd just forget. And he never told anyone the truth. Until, that is, the youngest daughter found a letter that wasn't meant for her eyes; a letter that confirmed the suspicions she'd had for a long time. A letter that would change the lives of five people forever.

This isn't a fairytale. It's the story of two people who found love against all the odds. It's the story of a woman who didn't know when to quit. It's the story of an optimistic thirteen-year-old girl who hitchhiked from Massachussets to Maine in an attempt to destroy her parent's marriage.

Because what happens in Korea doesn't stay in Korea; and love and war are inextricably entwined. Because sometimes you have to break something to fix it.

My name is Rebecca 'Beck' McIntyre, and this is my story.

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**I don't know the names or ages of Trapper's daughters and I don't know if it was ever even mentioned on the show, so I just made it up. Please don't correct me if I'm wrong cos I like my headcanon.**


	2. Worthless Scraps of Paper

**New chapter! And thank you to the anonymous but awesome commenter who told me Cathy's name.**

**Disclaimer: this is not mine. This is just a slightly unlikely (but hopefully still pretty good) idea that came into my head.**

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I may have mentioned before that this story begins with a letter, but, in truth, it begins with an entirely _different_ letter, written five and a half years previously, and _that_ letter would never have been written had it not been for Army discharge paperwork. This story, in other words, is the result of a collection of worthless scraps of paper. But the first letter is the most important. (Yes, I am going to get to the point eventually.)

Because that letter was the beginning of the Theory. And the Theory lead to my discovery of the Letter, and the Letter was the catalyst for the Plan. And this is the Result.

The first letter was almost never written. When someone you love (and I mean love in the emotional sense, not the casual, meaningless way) leaves you without so much as a goodbye, you probably won't feel like speaking to them ever again. But I guess Hawkeye must've had one near-death experience too many, cos a year and a half later he wrote to us (and by 'us', I mean my dad). And something changed. My parents' marriage was already on the rocks (cheating has that effect, I've noticed), but the fights got louder. Mom took to using my full name when she wanted me to do something, and my sister got the same treatment. The letters kept on coming and going. And Dad's eyes lit up in a way I'd never seen. That was when the Theory took root in my mind. I was seven years old. You'd think I'd be alarmed, but, weirdly, I didn't give a damn. But I didn't tell Cathy (my Debbie Downer sister) my thoughts. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, and it's not like she wouldn't have helped me make sense of it. I just didn't want her to know.

Mom, on the other hand, _did_ know; or suspected, anyway. Maybe that's why Cathy never knew. She would have played the responsible big sister and told her.

My conviction only really became cemented the first time the Swiss Family McIntyre actually met Hawkeye Pierce (or, as Mom would say, the Root of All Evil. That's a little harsh, don't ya think?) at a unit reunion in 1954. By then, I'd become almost as hypersensitive to any hint of romance as my mom. But whereas she desperately tried to convince herself she was just being paranoid, I was embracing my new detective-y status. I was nine, Cathy was ten, and back then we were the best of friends. But when I finally came across what, in my mind, was Concrete Evidence of Something Big (lingering touches my dear sister would just have brushed off as friendship and ignored), I didn't share it.

I had a purpose (and, given the state of my family, nothing to lose and maybe, just maybe, something to gain), and I was determined to fulfill it. That's why I read the Letter.

If I hadn't have done that, everything would be different.

Because nothing would have changed. The best discoveries are always accidental, right?

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**Hope you liked it! Please review. I appreciate constructive criticism, but flamers with accounts will be blocked by me, and flamers without accounts will have their comments deleted. I've worked hard on this, so don't hate on me if you think it's crap.**


	3. The Letter

**Disclaimer: I do not own M*A*S*H. All I own is the plot for this fic. I don't even technically own Beck, although I listed her as an OC because I created her personality from scratch. So yeah.**

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The year was 1958, and I was five seconds away from being rudely awoken.

_Five_

Today our lives would change, but I didn't know it at that point. I was in that halfway state between sleeping and waking; my favorite way to be. I was oblivious to everything.

_Four_

Anything is possible in that in-between stage, y'know. If I so chose, I could pretend my parents weren't fighting. I could believe I could fly. I could have any crazy fantasy I wanted and it would be totally believable. But I didn't.

_Three_

That day I wasn't thinking about much of anything. Not even the Theory entered my mind. (The Theory was always on my mind back then. I chose to go along with it, given that the alternative seemed to be ending up like my mother. The world did not need more of her.)

_Two_

In my short life, I have discovered one important thing. Nothing ever really happens on the truly important days, the pivotal ones, the ones that leave their mark. You expect comets in the sky the night before, possibly even an earthquake or two. In reality, there is one key event, and the rest is just averagely boring.

_One_

That day looked more boring than most. But I was happy. Relaxed. At peace with everyone and everything. The apocalypse could have arrived and I would've just turned over and gone back to sleep. (Hold that thought...)

_Zero_

"Rebecca McIntyre!" Mom yelled from the doorway. I think the reason she used my full name all the time was some feeble attempt at reminding Dad he was still married to her. (As you may have guessed, that plan kinda fell through.) I turned over and attempted to go back to sleep. No such luck.

"Your room is a disgrace!" _That's it? _ I thought drowsily. _That's the reason you're in here yelling at me? Big deal. _And I always speak my mind.

"I'm the one who has to sleep in here! And I can see all my stuff! If I put it away I'd lose it. If my room bears a vague resemblance to the Swamp, it's my choice to keep it that way." _Big mistake._ You see, 'the Swamp' is what my dad and Hawkeye referred to their tent as during the war; and Mom hated (still hates) it when people bring that up.

I figured I'd get the Lecture (or one of them, anyway), and I was right.

The Lecture was basically a five-minute sermon encompassing the following key points: Korea messed up our lives; I shouldn't be remembering, discussing or mentioning in passing the war that messed up our lives; Dad shouldn't be talking to me about the war that messed up our lives; Dr Pierce is a key part of the messed-upness (is that a word?) of our lives (this would get a mention even when he didn't, which always struck me as a bit counterproductive. It's ironic how the steps you take to prevent something can actually bring it about); and that I need to adopt Cathy's the-past-is-the-past-so-stop-dragging-it-into-the-present attitude to it all. Interestingly, she'd only had the aforementioned attitude for four months at this point. Before that she'd been like me; endlessly fascinated. She and I would listen to Dad's stories and memorize them. She used to look forward to the annual reunions just as much as me. By now, though, she considered herself 'too grown up' (she was fourteen, only a year older than me- I don't class that as grown up) and reckoned 'maybe Mom has a point.' Indoctrination is a-go, people.

When it was over I was completely awake. _Meh_. C'est la vie, I guess. There was no reason for arguing.

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The Letter arrived whilst I was following her orders. (One time I actually saluted. That didn't go down too well.) Maybe Debbie Downer (hi, Cathy!) was right and Mom _did_ have a point; I found three coffee cups and a cereal bowl in there. Blech. _Looks like something left over from the mess tent at the 4077th._ I shelved that comparison. Honestly, I half-expected to be arrested for thoughtcrime, the way things were going. _Mad Mother is watching you..._

Something was different about this letter, though - I wasn't allowed to read it. OK, I'm never allowed to read them, by order of Louise McIntyre, but Dad always let me anyway. The monthly missives were one of the things I loved about life, not just because of the Theory (my mental escape) but because I'm interested in other people's lives. Always had been. That's probably why the Theory doesn't alarm me the way it would alarm Cathy. Besides, it felt good breaking the rules.

When I asked to see this letter- the Letter - however, the answer was just a noncommittal 'Maybe later, Becky.' I haven't been Becky since I was ten. The only person who ever calls me Becky now is Cathy. Something was definitely up.

Then there was the Argument in the afternoon. Not a day goes by when there isn't one, but this sounded different. Cathy was out, and I was...well, I was eavesdropping. I couldn't hear the whole conversation, but I clearly heard my mom shout something that embedded itself in my mind. _'Then maybe you should have married _him_, not me!' _(Aha!) It was the first time Mom had voiced her suspicions. Later I would voice mine for the first time.

Maybe this is the point at which a sane person would be freaking out. Not me. Some days I wonder what a psychiatrist would make of my head and the way it works. Maybe I'm clinically screwed up. Or maybe everyone else is screwed up and I'm completely normal. _Not likely, Beck._

When I saw Mom throwing the Letter out with the trash, I knew there was something in it that Cathy and I weren't supposed to know about. Those letters weren't disposed of under any circumstances. They were placed back in their envelopes and kept in a box. Throwing one out was a new occurrence. I don't think she noticed me watching from the window, or stepping outside once she was done. I doubt she saw me hovering, wondering whether or not to retrieve it. And she didn't realize that I did. So I read it.

_Dear Trapper,_

_There's something I haven't told you. Maybe I never should, but I can't keep it to myself any longer. I know seven years is a long time, and I know you have your own life to lead, but I'm in love with you. Have been since Korea._

As I read, the world imploded. The Theory was Fact; this wasn't just a pretend game for a bored teenager anymore. This was Real Life, with potential Real Repercussions.

_I hope you can understand, Trap; please don't hate me._

_Love__, Hawkeye._

And yet I welcomed the implosion. This was my ticket out. Mine, and Dad's, and maybe even Cathy's.

Don't get me wrong, I'd give anything for my parents to work it out, but optimism is not about sticking around in a bad situation in the vain hope that it'll get better. I've always hated how people classify themselves and others by the fullness or emptiness of a metaphorical glass. A glass-half-full sort of person would probably look at all this and say to herself 'My mom is a possessive control freak, my sister is boring, and my dad may or may not have had an affair of some sort with another guy during the war. It'll all blow over, though. And at least my dad didn't die in Korea.' That is not optimism. That's being pathetic. Optimism is about being able to say 'OK, my mom is still a possessive control freak after seven years, my sister is boring, and I have evidence that something, however minor it may have been, went down between my dad and another guy during the war. This is not going to get any better. I have to do something. It might not be socially acceptable, and it might not even be legal, but I have to take the chance and it'll all turn out for the best.' and be completely confident about it. Optimism is about looking at reality and being certain that whatever risks you take will pay off.

I am an optimist. I was the only person who was gonna do something about this situation. And if 'doing something' entailed becoming a thirteen-year-old homewrecker then so be it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

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**The word 'Love' is supposed to have a strikethrough. In the original document for this, it read 'Forever yours' (which was crossed out) and then 'Love' (crossed out) which I thought was kinda poignant (or something like that anyway). But the gods did not like it. Consider this chapter a ritual offering.**


	4. Sayonara, Boston

**None of this is mine.**

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I dressed at midnight. OK, it was more like quarter to one (I'm not what you'd call punctual), but you get my drift - it was early. I flung a few essentials into a bag (along with the Letter) and slipped out of my room and into my sister's.

"Cathy?" I whispered. No reaction. "Cathy?" Still nothing. I went over and shook her violently. "Cath-Cath!"

"Piss off, Becky! It's too early!" _Ya don't say._

"We gotta go! Hurry up!" We might have our differences, but she was my sister and I wanted her to come with me,

"Go where?" She muttered grouchily.

"Crabapple Cove!"

"I don't even know where the hell that _is. _Now scram!"

"It's in Maine." By now I was getting the distinct impression she wanted me to go away. (I wonder why...)

"Becky, I have never had the slightest desire to visit Maine, especially not at _one in the morning!_" She paused. "Are you doing that thing you did as a kid where you stuck a pin in a map and wondered what it would be like to live wherever it ended up?"

"No." I looked her straight in the eyes. "D'ya remember that letter from Hawkeye I wasn't allowed to read?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I read it."

"Your point being?"

Wordlessly, I passed her the Letter. She scanned through it - she's always been a fast reader - and looked at me with wide, stunned eyes.

"Becky...do you know what this means?"

"Yes." Then., after five and a half years, the Theory finally came pouring out. "So you see, there's only one thing for it."

"Pretend none of this is happening, go back to sleep, and never breath a word of it to anyone?"

"No!" I was shocked. How could we ignore something like this?

"Figures. Your plans are never that simple or reasonable, are they?"

"They so are!"

"Your plan to ensure we didn't have to entertain Erin Hunnicutt in 1955 involved a catapult, orange peel, and ten buckets of water. And we still got stuck with her."

"OK, maybe some of my plans are a little crazy, but this one makes perfect sense."

"Let's hear it, then." She didn't sound so convinced.

"We gotta get them together!"

"Please tell me that by 'them', you do not mean Dad and Dr. Pierce."

I nodded. "Yep! I do!"

She stared at me. "That," she said finally, "is an exceptionally crap plan, even for you."

"That's why I need your help! You're the smart one! The one people listen to! You gotta come with me, Cathy!" I pleaded.

"NO, Becky! We can't! This is gonna screw everything up for all of us! And I, for one, do _not_ wanna end up a child of a broken home."

"We're already children of a broken home! What have we got to lose? If we don't do this, the five of us are gonna end up spending the rest of our lives in complete _misery._ It's the only option, Cathy!"

"Becky, try to be rational here. Firstly, if anyone finds out, there's gonna be serious consequences and we'll just be worse off-"

"No-one will find out." I said with total certainty.

"Secondly, have you even considered how you're gonna actually get there?"

I hadn't.

"I'll hitchhike." Well, why not? It's as good an idea as any.

"You're an idiot." That stung.

"You might be the brains here, Cathy," I held her gaze, on the verge of tears but determined to stand my ground, "but I'm the heart. If the brain dies, the body is still alive, because the heart doesn't stop. But when the heart gives in you're screwed."

"Meaning?"

"I can do this solo. Tell Dad where I went, and tell him to come pick me up. And don't tell Mom a thing." Then I turned and left. _Crabapple Cove, here I come._


	5. No Turning Back

**Yay, new chapter! Hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned M*A*S*H, I wouldn't be writing fic for it.**

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Maybe hitchhiking wasn't my best idea. The journey should've taken me four hours (give or take), but there aren't all that many cars at one in the morning and it took me forever. I ended up sleeping by the roadside. And when it was conceivable I might get a lift, no-one even looked twice at me. Can't say I blame them. I'd slept out in the open and my hair hadn't been brushed in three days. I didn't exactly look like someone you'd want sharing a car with you. No-one was headed my way anyway. In the end, I decided to ask the few good people who picked me up to drop me off where our courses split off and went their separate ways. It took me eighteen hours, but I made it.

And now you're thinking 'she's crazy'. You are, aren't you? You're siding with Debbie (_ahem_, I mean Cathy). But none of this is preventable, you see. My parents' marriage could never have survived this. Dad was always going to end up with Hawkeye in the end. And me? I can't see myself staying with Mom and Cathy in Boston. All I did was make sure everything happened faster than it would've. Perhaps faster than it should have. I thought it would be less painful that way.

I didn't start this, OK? I'm just trying to untangle it, write the ending to the story. Maybe Mom's right and it's Hawk's fault (he_ did _ write the Letter, after all). Or maybe she's to blame; if she hadn't turned into Psycho Mom, I wouldn't have read it. I suppose you could blame the Army, but they wouldn't have done anything had there not been a war in the first place, so maybe it's all down to the Koreans. Or maybe it's no-one's fault. 'Fault' implies something went wrong, when, in reality, everything went right.

Whatever the reason, I'm standing here now. There is no turning back. No time for second thoughts. I knock on the door. _Time to execute the Plan._

"Beck?" _At least somebody remembers my name._

"Can I stay here for a few days?"


	6. Shot Down

**UPDATE! Yay!**

**Disclaimer: M*A*S*H ended sometime in the early 80s. I was born in the late 90s. You do the maths.**

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This was it. "I read the Letter!" I blurted out as soon as I was inside and the door is closed. As soon as no-one outside would hear me. You can't be too careful, y'know. It was a delicate sort of situation. I think we all know what would happen if people started asking questions.

Hawkeye paled. "What?"

"I read the Letter." I repeat. _Obviously_.

"And you're here to tell me to get out of your life, right?" He sounded resigned. _Honestly, why do people keep acting like they expect me to be freaked out by this?_

"Nope." I grin. "I'm here to help." My statement was met with confusion.

"Whaddaya mean, help?"

"I got a plan. That's why I'm here. I wanted Cathy to come with me, but she thought it was a stupid idea."

"Your sister's right, Beck." It was my turn to be confused.

"What?" I stared at Hawkeye in shock. I could practically hear my Debbie Downer sister's voice inside my head. _'I told you so.'_

"I wrote that letter so I could put it behind me. It was either that or say it to his face."

"Well, why didn't you do that instead?" It all seemed perfectly simple to me.

"Because it'd screw everything up!" The frustration is evident in his voice, and Cathy's words from yesterday come back to me. '_This is gonna screw everything up for all of us!' _"I couldn't do that to him. I would gladly give up everything to be with him, but I can't make him do the same for me. Guy's married with two kids, a dog and a picket fence-"

"Cathy's allergic to fur, and we have never had a picket fence."

"That's not the point. I can't ruin someone else's life. It's not worth it! _I'm_ not worth it!"

I look him straight in the eyes. "If you really believed that," I say in desperation, "you wouldn't have written the Letter." Hawkeye just shakes his head sadly.

"Can I at least stay here for a bit? Just till someone comes to get me?"

"Sure. I'll clear out the guest room." Part of me has broken. A couple minutes after he left the room, something caught my eye. A normal person probably wouldn't set up a still in their living room (although I'm not sure, seeing as I don't actually know any normal people). And a normal thirteen year old girl wouldn't even consider drinking the product. But a normal thirteen year old girl wouldn't have attempted this, or feel this crushed when she failed in her plans. So I poured myself a drink. It burned, but I forced myself to swallow, and then looked back at my glass. Half-empty. How appropriate.

Because I'd started to do the one thing a true optimist should never, _ever_, do. I'd started to lose hope.

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**Well, I wasn't gonna make it easy, was I?**


	7. Digging My Heels In

**Hi! It's me again, with a new chapter! Hopefully it's not that bad.**

**Yet another disclaimer: Seriously, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU PEOPLE THIS ISN'T MINE?**

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My day was not going well. At all. As a result, by the time Dad came to get me I wasn't exactly sober. Yes, I _know_ I'm way too young, but I'd spent five-and-a-half years formulating the Theory and now everything I'd believed in was...gone.

"Are you drunk?"

"No! I'm just...mildly inebriated." I replied somewhat pathetically. (In retrospect, I could have come up with something better, couldn't I?)

"You're drunk. Hawkeye," Dad called the last part past me. "Why is my daughter drunk?"

"I tried to talk her out of it."

"Can you blame me?" I tried to defend myself. "I had the perfect plan and now..." I couldn't think of how to put my disappointment into words. My internal reservoir was tapped out and I just gave up. I stalked upstairs to get my things.

I heard my dad ask what 'all that' was about and covered my ears. _Stupid Theory. Stupid Letter, Stupid, stupid _me_._

* * *

"Beck?" He placed a hand on my shoulder as I glared down at my shoes five minutes later. "You OK?"

"No." Monosyllables. The standard language of the sulking.

"It wouldn't have worked out, you know."

_I know_, I thought to myself. Out loud, I settled for a wordless noise somewhere between a whimper and a grunt.

"Come on. Let's get you home." At this, I saw Cathy's face in my mind and recalled every conversation we'd ever had about my crazy schemes. I heard Mom yelling - at me, at Cathy, at Dad, at Hawkeye even though he was never around to hear it. And I remembered my previous surety and my refusal to turn back.

"No." I dug my heels into the floor.

"Beck-" Dad sounded almost pleading.

"No!" I said it more forcefully. "I'm not ready to go back yet! I _can't_ go back yet!" Now it was me begging. "Just let me stay here a couple more days. Please."

"You can stay too. As long as Beck sleeps on the couch." Most of me was grateful to Hawkeye for that offer. A small part of me resented being thrown out of the guest room so soon after moving in, but you can't have everything.

"OK. But just for three more days." Maybe there was hope after all.


	8. Like Life Antebellum

**Hi again! This chapter is woefully short, but a (hopefully) longer and better one'll be coming soon! Probably. ********I promise that absolutely everything that's gonna happen next will actually have a plot and be longer than 300 words. These short fillers do actually have a purpose - it's to get across something without tacking it onto the end or beginning of one of the 'big' chapters (I didn't feel right having Chapters 5 and 6 as one chapter, for example) - but the next installment will be better.**

**Disclaimer: M*A*S*H is not mine. I am, however, the proud owner of an olive drab fineline pen.**

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Sleeping on the couch wasn't so bad. Sure, I couldn't really sleep without falling on the floor, and okay, maybe I woke up slightly stiff, but on the positive side at least no-one was screaming. In Boston, not a day went by without my house turning into a warzone. This was almost like my life antebellum. Almost.

Phase One of the Plan was complete. Now for Phase Two. Small problem with that, though.

Phase One-Point-Five: Come up with a Phase Two.

You see, I'd hoped that Phase One would cut it. I believe in love at first sight, but I don't think it's very reliable. I figured second sight would yield results. Except so far it hadn't. And two days had already elapsed.

In less than twenty-four hours I'd be on my way back to the front line unless I could seriously rethink my strategy. My brain, however, was directly disobeying orders. My imagination had seemingly gone AWOL.

In short, I was stuck. I was actually missing Cathy. I hadn't been lying when I said I'd need her help.

SOS.


	9. Eavesdropping Is Always a Good Plan

**Wow, this was up a lot sooner than I thought it would be! I hope you like iit**

**Disclaimer: Did anyone reading this also read my AU of Welcome to Korea? Because if I owned this show that wouldn't have been AU. So yeah.**

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My stuff was already packed. In half an hour I would be leaving. August 15th would be forever etched into my mind as The Day I Realised I'm Actually An Idiot And Suck At Planning, And As A Result Failed. (I also suck at naming things, if you didn't already know...) I hadn't completed Phase One-Point-Five. Mission over.

I sighed and flipped through the contents of my bag to calm myself. My toothbrush. The Letter. A photograph of my parents, Cathy and I taken in 1949, the year before everything changed. My father's dogtags from Korea (something else Mom had surreptitiously tried to dispose of that I'd salvaged.) A few other random pieces of crap I'd found lying around in my bedroom back in Boston that I couldn't bear to leave behind. At least, that's what was meant to be in there.

I'd left the photo in the guest room. I'd had to repack my bag when I was unceremoniously reassigned to the couch for the duration of my extended stay, and evidently I'd missed it.

I was going to have to get it back. I pushed the door of the room open, expecting Dad to be there. It was empty. I slipped the picture into my bag and left.

That's when I heard voices from behind another door. I know we've all been taught that eavesdropping is very, very wrong, but hey, I've found out a lot of neat stuff that way. And it's fun. That's pretty much all I've been doing for half my life.

You hear voices, you listen in.

"Here we are again, Trap." Hawkeye was saying.

"Whaddaya mean?" I pressed my ear to the door.

"You're leaving me again." Lighthearted voices often mask heavier hearts than you'd think. Most people don't know that.

"Hawk...it's not like that. I've never left you when there was another option."

"You didn't even say goodbye." I winced, even though it wasn't anything to do with me. When I was a little girl, I couldn't stand it when people argued. I'd crouch down and cover my ears whenever anyone even raised their voice. It's just as well I grew out of that, considering the state of my family. Now I can hold my own and shout down anyone who disagrees. Nevertheless, I hate it when the people I care about fight amongst themselves or me. People never really change, I guess.

"I know. And I regret it every day." There was an exhalation, and I couldn't tell who it came from. " My family...we're not good with goodbyes. It just feels so wrong saying it to someone you're close to. And you've always been someone I'm close to. Or at least someone I wish I were closer to."

"Then stay."

"I can't. You know that, and I know that." I don't believe that. I believe that others believe it, but I don't buy it. It's like when young children play hide-and-seek and know that if they cover their eyes they become invisible because of that universal truth - 'if I can't see you then you can't see me'. That's true in many cases, but not then. I knew that my sister would always support me, and look how that turned out for me. So yeah. Knowledge and truth are two very different things. But most people don't think that way. I went back to my not-actually-a-bed and waited for my dad to tell me it was time to go.

But forty minutes went by with no-one appearing. _Maybe_, I mused, _I don't have to go at all. Maybe I didn't even need a Phase Two after all._

That was the first correct idea I'd had in four days.

I was reinstated to the guest room the same day.

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_**Result.**_ **But life's never that simple, is it... Stay tuned.**


	10. Why Us?

**Hi again! Here's another major chapter! Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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Our three-day stay wound up lasting an entire week. Sure, I hadn't been able to change clothes in all that time, but I didn't really care. I was happy. We all were.

OK, maybe not _all_ of us...

Mom, left behind by her husband and daughter, with no idea where they were. Cathy, knowing her life had been irrevocably torn apart. Me, I guess, because I was the one who did the tearing.

It turns out I'm not the only one who tried to do something about the situation.

* * *

On the day of the Second Intervention, Hawkeye was working and I was sleeping. What? It had been a pretty crazy week. I think it's acceptable to sleep in until 11am under the circumstances. Until that point, I hadn't really thought about What Came Next. I didn't know if we were staying in Maine on a permanent basis. I didn't know if I was going to have to go back. I didn't know if I'd have to choose between my parents. Things were just sort of happening, and I was just embracing it, like I had on that day five and a half years ago.

Things were about to get messed up.

* * *

I awoke to loud, insistent knocking; the kind that makes you want to open the door just so you can slam it in the knocker's face to stop them. Or maybe that's just me.

As it happened, I knew the knocker, as did Dad.

"Louise?" It was Mom. And that could only mean one thing: Cathy had sold me out.

"John, we need to talk. Now."

"About what?" I could feel an argument brewing. _Oh, boy._

"Well, for a start, why you and Beck dropped of the face of the earth and resurfaced staying with Pierce!"

"This is not what it looks like." If ever there has been a phrase absolutely guaranteed to convince people that whatever it is is _exactly what it looks like_, then that is it.

"It's exactly what it looks like." _And there it is..._

"This really isn't the right place to be talking about this."

"Then where is the right place?" Her voice got louder. "And where the hell is Pierce, anyway? Because the three of us _need to talk!"_ Why is it that adults always repeat themselves when they argue? It just doesn't make sense.

"He's not here. Just leave him out of this. And Beck, too."

"I was never going to bring her into this mess in the first place! It's Pierce who did that!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means _he had no right to say the things he did!" It wasn't just me who read the Letter, then.

"I know. And _you _have no right to tell me he's to blame for something that wasn't anything to do with him!" Whilst this was going on, I dressed and picked up my bag. I hadn't unpacked it, which was lucky.

"What do you mean, it wasn't anything to do with him? This had _everything _to do with him!"

I stepped into the line of fire. "It was me."

"Beck?" Mom looked at me questioningly. Then she engulfed me in the sort of hug thirteen-year-olds don't get. "It's OK. I know what happened. Don't blame yourself, it wasn't your fault."

"It was." I don't like being underestimated. I also don't like it when people dole out blame based on their own preconceptions. This was my doing. Mine, and no-one else's.

"We'll talk about this later. Just come home! Both of you!" By this point she was crying a little.

"No." Mom's expression shifted from teary-and-slightly-pissed-off-but-happy to just plain incredulous at my dad's response. "Look, I'm sorry it has to end this way, but I love Hawkeye, and I want to build a life here as best I can."

"John-"

"We're not discussing this."

"Becky," Now I was the one on the spot. "Please say you'll come home."

"OK." Someone had to say it. I stepped outside.

"I'll tell Hawk you said goodbye." Dad calls from behind me as Mom leads me away from the life I'd settled into.

"Don't. I never said it." I inherited a lot of things from my dad. My hair. My eyes. My dislike for one simple word. It's the last one I wish I could erase sometimes.

And now I had to say hello to the last person I wanted to see at that moment.

"Cathy."


	11. Cathy

**I have an update for you! And I just want to say a massive thank you to hippiechick2112 for being so supportive and awesome.**

**Disclaimer: Somehow I doubt this is mine.**

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The two of us didn't speak again until the next day. I didn't want to see her and she didn't want to see me. I felt betrayed, but I guess it was mutual. I mean, I'm probably the reason all this happened. No matter what Mom thought, _I _was the homewrecker. Not Hawk. Me.

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I sat on my bed in my room in Boston and didn't even look up when she walked in.

"You broke the Code of Sisterhood." I muttered. "'_Don't tell Mom_.'"

"I had to! And if I broke a code, then so did you." she replied, sounding just as annoyed as me. "There's an unwritten law of the universe that expressly forbids...this."

"_This?_" I laughed humorlessly. "'This' could be anything. Why don't you just say it?'

_Because then it would be real._ She doesn't say it and neither do I, but it's true.

"I _missed _you_, _Cathy! Dad and I both did. You weren't there and that really sucked, and I missed you!" I take a deep breath. "If you think we wanted to write you and Mom out of our lives, if you think that's what _I _wanted, then you're wrong. You didn't have to stab me in the back. You promised you'd keep my secret."

"I never promised you anything." My sister stood in front of me, and it didn't feel like we were related anymore. It didn't feel like we were even friends. It felt like we were enemies on the brink of war. "And I tried to avoid telling her at first cos I figured you'd fail again. I thought it was just another of Becky McIntyre's Shitty Plans that wouldn't amount to anything. But you were gone for a whole week, and Mom was starting to freak out. I told her not to call the cops. I constantly reassured her that you were OK, that you were with Dad and that neither of you had been murdered or kidnapped or anything. Then I realized that you'd actually done it. You'd gone and actually _succeeded _in one of your plans. I had to tell her." I started to feel bad.

"I was just trying to help."

"So was I!" She and I aren't so different after all, I supposed. We wanted the same thing - to be happy, and for the people we love to be happy too. The only problem was that our methods were so, so different.

"Cathy-" She swept out of the room before I could tell her that I understood.


	12. This Is Not A Goodbye

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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I dressed at midnight. Well, five minutes to midnight, anyway. I'm getting better at this punctuality stuff. This time I packed better. I remembered a change of clothes and dumped half the random crap. I didn't really need it.

And I brought a notepad with me, and a pen. There was something I had to do before I left.

_We McIntyres suck at goodbyes. That's why this isn't one. I just want to let you both know where I'm going, and that I'm sorry. I never wanted to have to choose, but if I have to I think I'll pick the option with less moping and resentment._

_Mom, I need you to know that Hawkeye had nothing to do with this. He tried to talk me out of it, so don't make him take all the blame for this. It was me. I thought it was for the best. Oh, and I knew what was going on long before I read the Letter, just so everything's out in the open._

_Cathy, I know you hate me, but I don't hate you. Not anymore. I forgive you, and I understand. I wish you were coming with me. Maybe you can come and visit, and I can visit you here? I'll understand if you can't bring yourself to forgive me, though. And you were right, most of my plans aren't all that good, are they? The fact that this worked is something of a miracle._

_I took that photograph from 1949 to remind me of how things used to be, but those days are long gone now. There was never any real possibility of life going back to how it was. I hope that somehow we can be that happy again. Maybe now we can move past all the bad stuff._

_If you need me, I think you already know where I'll be. Crabapple Cove ain't all that bad! You should stop by sometime._

I signed my name at the bottom, tore the page out, and turned to leave, but I couldn't resist! I picked up the pen again and changed something, right at the end.

_Beck Pierce-McIntyre_

Then I unlocked the door and slipped out into the night.


	13. Epilogue

**So this is it. The final chapter of HEAIM (as I've taken to calling it) is up! I just want to say thanks to the following for favouriting/following/reviewing/suspending your disbelief over this fic: jeweledweevil, hippiechick2112, T Goerlitz, DaceyRose, Allied Hero, Sherloki'd1, Crazypixies, Paulina'sHM, MASHlover23, and cmee57. I love you all. Also, thanks to adsiderum from the Fangirl fandom for helping me out earlier! And if anyone reading this wants a sequel, there's a poll on my profile.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H. Like, at all.**

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And they all lived happily ever after in Maine. Well, kind of. We have our problems.

Mom isn't speaking to Hawkeye and Cathy isn't speaking to me. It's not for lack of trying on our part. It depresses me sometimes, partly because they're my family and partly because if anyone ever finds out the truth I'll be sent right back to Boston with the knowledge that I'd contributed to the ruin of two people's lives and Cathy will still hate me and quite possibly murder me in my sleep. Fortunately, so far no-one knows, although some people probably suspect. Hey, it's a small town (population 402). I guess most people would just wanna pretend it's not happening. I don't want to know what's gonna happen to the three of us if word gets out.

So yeah, it's kind if a bad situation, but it's a hell of a lot better than it was. One day we'll all be on speaking terms again, and one day people will be more accepting, and then everything will be okay. And whilst I hate just sitting around waiting for tomorrow to be brighter and for that irritating hypothetical glass to fill up, I suppose it's all I can do right now.

Dad and I have only been back twice. Once was a few days after I ran away the second time to pick up clothes and stuff. The other was at Christmas. We spent the day with my maternal grandmother trying to avoid talking about All This. Talk about awkward.

Still, I keep trying to get in touch with my sister in the hope that she'll hear me out. Maybe one day we'll be friends again.

But there are questions to be resolved first. Questions that I may never know the answers to. What am I? Homewrecker or matchmaker? Disease or cure? Or am I neither; just a screwed-up little girl who allowed herself to become a viable vector? I guess I'm all three, really.

Whatever the answer is, maybe I should just let this story die with me, but I figured it should be preserved for posterity. I've written it all down and I'll carry it with me always so no-one will ever find it by accident, and maybe in a few years, or decades, or centuries, someone living in a civilization where this won't be so awful by social standards will read it and be inspired to be themselves around people who hate them, or do something risky but awesome without being afraid of the consequences, or maybe just have the confidence to wake up every morning and have faith in the fact that their life won't suck. I like that idea.

So about that glass: I think I've figured out the answer. People _think_ that if the glass is exactly 50:50 then it really doesn't matter if you say it's half-full or half-empty, but they're wrong. It all depends on whether or not the glass was being filled or drained to get the water to that level in the first place. And I think that's a better metaphor for a person's outlook on life. A true optimist fills their glass, and a real pessimist drains it. It's nothing to do with perspective at all. Not really. Life's what you make it.

_Beck Pierce-McIntyre, January 1st, 1959_

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**And now, just for fun...the HEAIM playlist! Most of these are Beck songs, but there's one or two Hawpper songs in there as well. Enjoy!**

**Breakaway - _Kelly Clarkson_**

**It's The End Of The World As We Know It -_ R.E.M._**

**Defying Gravity - _Kerry Ellis_**

**Get It Right _- Glee Cast_**

**Something Better - _Softengine_**

**Another Place To Fall - _KT Tunstall_**

**Let It Go - _Demi Lovato _(They kept playing the Idina Menzel version of this on the radio and I thought it was a good Beck song, and the lyrics of this version made more sense in this context, so yeah.)**


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